by Jane Lark
The crowd left behind them laughed and chattered.
Meredith had not seen Rowena, but Rowena would learn about what had happened; someone would tell her.
Part Two
Rupert had come downstairs to discover armfuls of roses in the hall this morning. He had not been in the temper for such things. He was in an even worse temper once he’d discovered they were from Kendrick.
Why would the man not leave Rowena alone? She had quite clearly told Kendrick, no, even if she had been too polite to use the word. Just as Rupert would have done, had he been given a choice in his own engagement.
He could not quite believe what had occurred last night, even as Divine’s butler showed Rupert into the not-so-grand drawing room, of Divine’s townhouse.
They lived comfortably, in a decent area, but it was not Mayfair and Rupert was not impressed in the least. The drawing room stank of tobacco, and the furniture was tired and dated. It was all a little shabby, as was Miss Divine. But like it or not, the woman was now to be his wife.
He’d been snared; caught in the noose; trapped in the parson’s mousetrap; shackled... He could think of a hundred clichés men used to jest about their fate once a marriage agreement had been made, but he did not think many men were actually, literally, captured as he had been — fool that he was.
What had made him follow her into the garden, and, God forbid, stand alone with her outside the summerhouse? He deserved this fate, for being such a rash idiot.
He’d stupidly sought some good in her, only to face the bitter, ugly, truth; that he had been right all along. There was no damned gray in her. There was black and white; she was as obvious as he had thought, an open book, a scheming, conniving, little mischief maker.
Well, Meredith Divine was going to rue the day she had compromised him.
Yet it had done one good thing. It had broken his sister’s adoration of the girl. Rowena had been outraged last night, and quiet this morning. Meredith may gain a wealthy husband, and a title, but she had lost any hope of friendship or kindness in his house.
As for Rupert’s mother, she was appalled. So Miss Divine could not expect a welcome there either. The girl would be exiled in his home. She had made a fatal error when she’d chosen him to play her games with. She would learn that soon too. It was the one thing which was keeping him sane, imagining all his sources of revenge.
She was going to have a lot to endure as his wife. He was going to make damn sure she did. He intended making her life hell in return for this. She would gain his title, and the comfort of his money, but she would have no peace.
Rupert had spent half the night drinking with Edward, as they had done in the weeks before his cousin had met Ellen. Only then, it had been Rupert consoling Edward as Edward had tried to drink away the anger eating at him, when Robert had come back from the continent. This time, it had been Rupert drowning his sorrows in wine, while Edward reassured. Edward had again claimed Meredith had a fancy for Rupert, and excused her action with that statement. He’d said all might be well... Rupert did not give a damn if the girl liked him. He did not like her.
“Lord Morton.”
“Mr.Divine.”
“I‘ve had the contract drawn up. You need only sign it.”
“I shall read it first.” Rupert walked forward and picked up the document Divine had indicated. It had lain discarded on a desk in one corner of the room.
Rupert scanned every line as Divine stood in silence. It was not a dream; this was really happening, it was written in ink on the page.
When Rupert put the paper down, he looked at Divine. “I have acquired a license. I shall arrange a church for tomorrow and let you know where to bring her.”
“Do you not wish to see my daughter, Lord Morton?”
“No.” He had nothing to say to Miss Divine. In fact he did not yet trust himself not to wring her neck. He was willing to make the rest of her life hell, but he did not think he could get away with killing her.
~
It was a small church, tucked away in the side streets.
Meredith knew it was normal for ton marriages to take place in St George’s in Hanover Square. So she now knew, too, that Lord Morton did not wish their marriage to be celebrated, or even noticed.
She felt like crying. She’d heard nothing from him since he’d left her at the summerhouse. She’d expected to be called to the drawing room yesterday, if only to be made to account for herself. But he had not asked for her. She’d expected him to ring a peel over her head for tricking him into this, not to be so silent. At least if he’d spoken to her, she would have had the chance to explain.
She looked up at her father as they entered the church. His anger had cooled once they’d reached home the other night. He’d realized then that his daughter would be a Countess, and instead of being angry, his chest had puffed out with pride, and he’d forgotten he’d ever recommended Mr.Perrigrew.
He’d spent the last four and twenty hours bragging about how his son-in-law was to be an earl, and telling any of the servants who would listen that he would be rubbing shoulders with such impressive company now. He had spoken about inviting Lord Morton into a business venture, and dining at his daughter’s new home.
She doubted Lord Morton would ever let her father through the door of his house. He’d always looked at her with disgust when she’d entered.
Oh, why had she forced this engagement? He did not like her. Yet she had just seen an opportunity and, terrified of the alternative, grasped it.
Her gaze scanned the quiet church as she absorbed the atmosphere of mistrust, anger and resentment.
Lord Morton stood before her. She’d expected him to be waiting at the altar, but instead he was by the door. Behind him stood Lord Edward and his wife. Rowena was with them.
Meredith smiled at Rowena. Rowena did not smile.
Meredith felt tears rush into her eyes, but she refused to cry. This life would be far better than the one her father had intended. Lord Morton would be her husband, Rowena would be her sister, and Meredith would make the best of this.
Yesterday, she’d heard Mr.Perrigrew express his disgust when her father had broken their agreement. His angry shouts had rung through the house. Then Meredith had seen Lord Morton’s carriage arrive and heard his restrained knock on the front door.
His exit had been as quiet as his entrance. She had waited in her room for her father’s summons, then suddenly heard the door shut.
Of the two fates, she much preferred to face Lord Morton’s quiet fuming. He was a gentleman; he would never rage at her, or raise his hand against her. She was sure of that, if nothing else.
“Are you ready?” He spoke to her, his gaze searching her face, and then he looked down and his intense gaze equally skimmed across her body, as if judging what he was about to tie himself to in marriage.
She’d worn her prettiest dress. It was white, as all her dresses were, but it had exquisite lace decorating the skirt in rings.
She remembered the lace she’d pulled from her bodice the other night and blushed as his eyes came back to her face.
She nodded, and then looked at her father, hiding behind the brim of her straw bonnet. She ought to have curtsied, she remembered, but it was too late to curtsy now.
She breathed out and gripped the chrysanthemums she’d put together as a bouquet more tightly.
Lord Morton hated her. He had good cause.
Her father gave her a stiff glance, as if encouraging her to simply grasp Lord Morton’s arm and claim her place. She could not be so bold. She wondered if her father realized how much Lord Morton disliked her. They had not discussed the incident the other night since, only the outcome.
She heard Lord Morton turn away and looked back. He was already striding up the aisle. It was as if he just wished to get this over with. His cousin followed.
Meredith met Rowena’s gaze, but Rowena merely lifted her chin in a dismissive gesture, then turned away and followed her brother.
The only person who smiled at Meredith was Lady Eleanor, who gave Meredith what appeared an understanding and bolstering look. Meredith smiled back, only for an instant. Then Lady Eleanor turned away, too, and when she caught up with Rowena, she took Rowena’s arm.
Meredith longed to have someone who might hold and comfort her. Her mother had died when she was very young; she could not even remember what it was like to have compassionate, female comfort. Her father had never been loving, or even protective. He did not even offer his arm now. She grasped it anyway, needing something to cling to.
They followed Lord Morton’s family up the aisle, and Meredith was certain she clutched her father’s arm too tightly, but she could not let go. She felt desperation and fear and longing, all at once.
Her heart began to hammer even harder when she had to let her father go as he left her at the altar. Lord Morton stood beside her, his posture stiff.
The service seemed to progress very fast from that moment on as the vicar’s voice echoed about the small, nearly empty, church, and she struggled to keep up with it.
Lord Morton never looked at her face, let alone into her eyes, when he said his vows — he spoke to the vicar, and when he slid the ring onto her finger — looked only at her hand.
She spoke her vows, loudly and clearly, wishing this was the wedding she had dreamed of as a child, looking at his profile, and longing for him to look at her and see that she loved him. Surely he could see?
But he did not turn, and perhaps he did not even care.
Her hands were shaking when the vicar pronounced them man and wife, and the ribbon which tied the three chrysanthemums she clasped and trailed in curling bands of green, trembled.
When the vicar asked them to sign a register, Lord Morton did not offer his arm, but once again walked ahead of her. He bent and signed it first, then stepped back so she could sit and sign it too. She was Meredith Stanforth now, Countess of Morton. She was Lord Morton’s wife.
The vicar shook Lord Morton’s hand.
He grunted acknowledgement, then turned to his cousin. “Home I suppose, then.” He still did not look at Meredith. “You will come with us, Ed?”
Lord Edward’s eyebrows lifted.
“We shall, of course, we shall,” Lady Eleanor interjected.
It was Meredith’s wedding, they ought to be celebrating, yet none of them showed any sign of joy. Meredith felt joy.
Lord Morton was tall and handsome, and having seen him with Rowena, she knew he could be kind. His hazel eyes caught her gaze, only for a moment, and then they lifted to look at her father instead.
“Divine?” It sounded like a begrudging offer.
“I shall come.”
“Good; then you may take Meredith in your carriage.”
Lord Morton did not even want to accompany her. His dismissal cut like a knife into her breast. She was not at all welcome, then. Tears threatened once more. Yet she knew she deserved his rejection; she had forced him into this situation after all. She turned away toward her father, to hide her distress. But as she did so, she caught Lord Edward’s gaze, and he gave her a half a smile.
She did not know what to make of it. His expression implied he was asking a question of her, rather than anything else. She turned and walked out beside her father, leaving Lord Morton and his family to follow, feeling daggers thrust into her back.
~
Carrying the tension which had been gripping him all day, Rupert walked into Meredith’s bedchamber, wearing only a silk dressing gown. He still could not quite believe this was real. It felt like a nightmare, one from which any moment he might wake. But she was there, in the Countess’s bedchamber, which connected to his rooms via a private door. She was in bed, awake, but silent.
She wore a nightgown, which he could see above the top of the sheets. It was buttoned right up to her chin, and also at her wrists, hiding almost every inch of her. Her hands gripped the covers and held them over her chest as she sat up. Her loose hair fell in a glorious waterfall of amber, tumbling over her shoulders, caressing both the covers and the pillow behind her as she moved.
Something clasped heavy and firm in his stomach and gripped at his groin. He might not wish her for his wife, but he would have no trouble consummating the match, no trouble at all.
“Meredith.” He’d said little more than that to her all day. He was not willing to make this marriage easy for her, and nor was he going to let her avoid her duty. She had forced him to take her as his wife, so now she must fulfill all the expectations of that role.
He moved forward, leaving the candles burning to add to his pleasure, and her discomfort. He felt no charity for her. She had brought this on herself.
“I... I’m... s...sorry.”
“It is far too late for that.”
“I —”
“I have no wish to hear anything you have to say, Meredith. So pray, do not speak. I have only come to consummate the match.”
Her mouth formed an ‘O’ and then shifted to a pout as he undid the sash at his waist.
When he shrugged off his dressing gown, her gaze dropped as did her jaw.
He was still not inclined to be kind, and he hadn’t realized, until this moment, that is was possible to be intensely angry with someone and yet intensely attracted to them, too. That hair... “Let the covers go.”
She did. They fell to her waist, only revealing more of her nightgown.
“Stand up.”
She looked nervous and scared as she climbed off the bed and then stood before him. All he could see of her body was her hands, her face and her toes. Her thick linen nightgown hid all else.
He met her gaze and stepped forwards, his eyes holding on to the blue as his fingers began working loose the buttons at her front, starting at her chin and moving down.
She was shaking. She bit her lip and her eyes dropped to stare at his Adam’s apple. His gaze dropped to watch each button slip free and the material begin to gap. Her skin was as pale as cream; it had not one single blemish, and her hair glowed in the candlelight, a striking contrast to her pale complexion.
The pulse in his groin intensified, and he was fully erect, while something equally hard tightened in his chest.
Yes, he had no issue with consummating this marriage. This was the only part of his life which would be a pleasure from now onwards. He had wanted a comfortable marriage; he would make this it.
When her nightgown was loose he brushed it off her shoulders and it dropped to the floor, leaving her naked.
His fingers slipped into her hair, and, cradling her nape, he brought her mouth to his. He kissed her opened-mouthed and she kissed him back, brushing her tongue past his lips.
She knew how to kiss, then. Lord he hoped she was not loose. He did not want a wife who would cuckold him. Still, it hardly mattered now. She was the wife he had.
His hands moved, running over her body. He’d thought her thinner than she was. She had wide hips, flesh a man could grasp. He clasped her buttocks as he kissed her. She did not seem at all shocked, or afraid, not now. She pressed against him with more confidence than he’d imagined she would have. Perhaps it was the bravado he had always seen in her, returning. Perhaps she did not care if he liked her or not, as long as she had what she wanted. At the moment, he did not particularly care whether he liked her or not, either. He liked this...
His hand gripped her breast, and she arched, pressing it into his hand. Her breast had an exquisite pert tilt, which made her tight nipple stand proud. He caressed it with his thumb as her tongue weaved about his, not compliant, but hungry. She was not merely permitting his kiss and his caress, but clearly taking pleasure in them, and proving that, her hand moved from where it had gripped his shoulder, falling to his groin, and then she clasped him.
Lord, she would unman him in a moment. He’d had no mistress for a year; he had not thought it right to have one when Rowena had come out.
His kisses became more ardent, his tongue pressing deep into Meredith’s
mouth as her fingers began working him in tight swift strokes. He ought to care that she knew a man’s body far too well, he ought to be angry. But the anger had gone from him. There was no room in his head for thoughts; it was swamped with sensation.
“Meredith...” he said into her mouth as his fingers gripped in her hair and at her breast, then his tongue fenced with hers as she fought him for who would invade whose mouth.
Panting and ravenous, he backed her toward the bed, and then they tumbled.
He could be slow and take his time, but he was not inclined for that. He had abstained for far too long. He just wanted quick, urgent relief, and she was his wife; he could have what he wished.
Within moments her legs were braced open by his, and he was looking down at her, holding steady in the single second before he plunged.
Her gaze shone with heat, but there was also fear there again, and when he was inside her, deep inside her, he saw a flash of pain, having burst through the brief restriction of her maidenhead.
She had been a virgin. She was untouched by any other man, in this way.
There was a deep sudden feeling of relief as he watched her bite her lip. She might have toyed with other men, but she’d kept herself whole for the marriage bed. He began moving, slowly at first, steadily.
She held his gaze for a little while, lying still and looking up at him as he pressed all the weight of his upper body onto his hands, so he might work with more skill.
His heart was thumping and he suddenly had an intense desire to ensure she was as pleased by this as he would be, and he knew he would be. He increased his pace.
She began moving, lifting her hips, and using muscles in her stomach which he could feel tightening inside her.
As he pressed in, she pressed up, and this became a battle between them — no, not a battle — more like a country dance where each step counterbalanced the other.
Lord, Lord. She was fiery hot.
Still holding her gaze, he smiled gently, with closed lips.
She smiled back, responding, as his pace became more aggressive. He entered her with firm, fast, deep strokes. Then he was kissing her hair, her face, biting at her lip, nuzzling her neck and nipping at her shoulder.